Brandy Ross's Story, Freedom Writers Student
by MarieWarren09
Summary: Brandy is a an African American student who lives in Long Beach, California. She faces abuse at home along balancing her studies. This task is not easy, Woordrow Wilson High School is a very divided school, divided by race, who recently agreed to an integration program. The struggles she faces at home along with the struggles of being accepted at school, is a story worth telling.


Chapter 1

The Morning

It was way too familiar; always violence and facing that emotion of fear. 6:30 a.m. I wake up; slowly walking as if I were a zombie to my brother's room to wake him. It usually takes awhile before he can open his eyes from a deep sleep. I shake my head with a smirk on my face and say, "Another day of school, another day of abuse, another day of being constantly reminded of my race." I walk out of his room into mine, and pick out my clothes and get ready to shower, my hands are sweaty, and I knew what was going to happen. Usually when they sweat it's a sign that he is coming back to hurt us again. He is going to come for me this time. I cannot wait until I get out of this dump place. Living in the ghetto will NOT be my lifestyle; I refuse to become another black statistic or worse, stereotype. I grab my towel and head for the bathroom; trembling as I unclothe myself. I start the water and wait there until I see steam. The mirrors fog up erasing my reflection slowly. This is the moment, believe it or not where I am at peace. I can ponder things and figure out a plan to get through the day, considering the hell hole I live in. This is where I know that I am safe, safe from the world, safe from him.

"Get the hell out of here!" My mother is screaming as if one of her children just died "I knew it" thinking to myself. I hurry and wash myself and scurry into my room, slamming the door so hard one of my pictures of me and my brother falls on the floor breaking the frame. Dressing myself quickly, so quickly, I kept falling on the bed making the springs squeak loudly. "You think you can keep my damn kids away from me!" I hear a husky, deep voice and know exactly who it is. It's him. I open the door slowly trying not to make the door crack, I hear nothing but silence so I creep my way to my brother's room to protect him incase he comes upstairs for us next. "Shhhhh, be quiet or we will end up with the worst of it!" I tell my brother as he is shaking under his bed lying on his stomach. Heavy, soldier like foot steps come up the stairs, as soon as they reach the top, they pause…then they start to gently walk towards the opposite direction of my brother's room, he is looking for me. The door creaks, and pictures and clothes are being thrown everywhere. "Come out now or it will be worse than it was last time!" My brother and I are hiding in his closet; I'm hugging him so tight with my hand over his mouth to stop him from breathing heavily. The footsteps make their way into the room we're in finally, and we try to be as silent as a mouse. He flips the mattress over, and knocks over the lamp on the night table next to the bed. He looks over at the closet and opens it ferociously, tearing the door from the hinges. "Are you going to make this harder on yourself?" He asks me in a gentle sensitive tone, I shake my head still hugging my brother tightly, rocking back and forth. "Go downstairs and check on mom" I said to my brother trying to remain unafraid.

Knowing what was going to happen, I put my sweaty hands on my face trying to cover every inch from his fists. He takes off his belt and forms it into a loop like shape and begins attacking me. He doesn't care where he hits as long as he knows there's pain. "Please stop, I am your daughter!" Tears and blood are dripping down my face, as I endure the sting of the leather. His eyes were bloodshot red, and his veins were bulging through his arms. He placed his left hand on my face as the other hand strikes my body. "You are not my daughter!" I cry as if I have never experienced this pain, although I should be used to it by now, it was all too familiar. He finishes, and leaves, runs down the stairs; busts open the front door and speeds off in his old rusty apache diesel truck. He leaves me lying on my back, feeling weak, hopeless, and worthless. I raise my hand to touch my cheeks, but I flinch. Slowly getting up on my feet, I make my way to the bathroom. The fog has disappeared and my reflection is there once again, revealing my life, the person I hate. My eyes are puffy, so puffy from the endless tears, that I can't open them all the way, my nose is dripping with blood and snot; my lips are cracked, my left cheek is bulging from its terrible swelling. After staring for a good while, I grab a piece of tissue and start cleansing my face. I use water, water doesn't hurt me.

I apply my make up to cover up the injuries and grab my backpack, and run downstairs and see my mom on her knees with her hands folded facing the couch. "Bye mom" "I'm praying, can't you see that?!" I look at my brother and wave my hand telling him to come on. He sits there at the table with a confused look, his lips quivering from his fear; tears roll down his face but of course we remind him that boys don't cry. He grabs his bag, walks over to mom and hugs her tightly then runs to the door. It's about 7:45 a.m. and we wait by the stop sign for the bus. "Did you get your homework done?" I ask, "There are other things in life that are more important than school work." I giggle and shake my head in disappointment; "You can say that again." The bus comes and we're finally off to school, I sit in the back so people won't see my face as clearly. I hate school; I hate this new integration program that our school voluntarily implemented. It is so stupid, we all still are going to stick with the same people that look like us, what the hell of a difference is a program going to make?

The bus stops at the front of the school and all I see are white people in their circle, the Cambodians in theirs, Tijuana's group, and then mine, the black people or what do they call us…yeah the ghetto. I wave to a few friends but try to avoid close contact. I walk in the school and search for my classes; searching for the class that's tolerable…English. I look at my schedule and see that it is located in room 203. I walk in and see each race sitting with their own; I choose to sit in the front, because usually the most trouble happens in the back. At least I am away from home for a few hours and can focus on this class and apparently we have a new teacher; a teacher who obviously is oblivious to what she's in for.


End file.
